


Hamish

by greymissed



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 02:10:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13847865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greymissed/pseuds/greymissed
Summary: When Sherlock proves himself quite adept at handling the intricacies of Mary’s pregnancy and the stages of Rosie’s development, John Watson imagines it’s just part of Sherlock’s vast ocean of knowledge. He never imagines the real reason why. Irene Adler/Sherlock Holmes.





	Hamish

John Watson sometimes feels, after years of going on adventures with Sherlock, as if his own deductive skills have vastly improved. He now notices things like mud spattered on shoes, tan lines caused by wedding rings, photo frames moved two inches to the left. Not that he can often tell what the significance of those things are, but at least he notices them. Sometimes.

 

Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because this is not one of those times. No, he feels right now that he has been terribly, terribly dull.

 

He wracks his brain for the thousand clues he’d failed to see.

 

First, the two weeks Sherlock had gone missing in the lead-up to John and Mary’s wedding. He’d returned with a strange look in his eyes, looking more rumpled and tired than usual. John had assumed he’d been working hard on a case or following a lead which required him to be away or to look like that. It wasn’t an unreasonable deduction, was it?

 

Second, all the helpful tips. The various stages of pregnancy and infant development. Optimal pre- and post-natal nutrition. The pros and cons of various brands of strollers. Breast milk versus formula. What sort of fruits and vegetables to puree for baby food.

 

John had known that his friend’s veritable repository of knowledge would prove useful at some point in real life, but little did he expect that such point would come with Mary’s pregnancy and the birth of Rosie. In fact, he’d put pregnancy and infant care at the bottom of the list of things Sherlock would have useful knowledge about, somewhere between dating tips and the latest soap operas.

 

Still, it wasn’t the first time Sherlock had surprised him, and it was not entirely unbelievable that Sherlock’s knowledge extended to such things as diapers and unscented baby lotions. That being the case, John took it in his stride the first time this knowledge was revealed, thinking gratefully that perhaps Sherlock had read up in preparation for his godfatherly duties. He’d proven very adept in what John termed “armchair coaching”, barking instructions from where he was very helpfully lounging in an armchair, sometimes even deigning to engage in a demonstration.

 

Third, these practical demonstrations. They should have been the most telling clue. Sherlock was nothing if not learned, but there were times his knowledge was purely theoretical, particularly where there had been no case requiring the use of such knowledge and no potential useful application of such knowledge to a case. As was the case when it came to solar systems and, John had thought, babies.

 

But again, Sherlock had exceeded all expectations. Perhaps John had been too tired himself to notice it, but Sherlock had been extremely handy when it came to his goddaughter. Not that he was especially good at making her stop crying nor particularly affectionate with her (Sherlock _never_ descended to baby talk, which John was grateful for never having to witness), but Sherlock had proven quite skilled at carrying out certain tasks.

 

Still, Sherlock would have been probably his last choice as babysitter (notwithstanding that he was the godfather), simply because he was Sherlock. One weekend, however, John and Mary had had to go to Scotland for a relative’s funeral and had as a last resort sought Sherlock’s help to babysit Rosie for the weekend. Despite being unabashedly annoyed at the interruption to his plans to spend the weekend conducting certain experiments involving suspending himself from a rope and working out how that affected blood flow to various body parts, Sherlock had kindly agreed. He had then summarily dismissed all of John’s attempts to try to teach him how to look after a six-month old baby.  

 

“You don't think I know what to do?” Sherlock had asked John, fixing him with a challenging look and going on to utterly amaze him by properly sterilizing Rosie’s milk bottle, preparing milk and testing its temperature on the back of his hand before feeding it to Rosie.

 

Although certain that Sherlock would never _mean_ to let Rosie come to any harm, John and Mary had still left feeling slightly uneasy, and had returned to London half-expecting to see Rosie suspended from a rope as Sherlock worked out her blood flow. They were instead pleasantly surprised to find her bathed, fed, swaddled, and gurgling contentedly in her crib. John had made an offhand remark about how Sherlock had become so good at this, and Sherlock had replied, deadpan, “Looking after my own child, of course.”

 

Perhaps in their relief at getting Rosie back in one piece, John and Mary had missed the clues, for they had simply laughed, never for one moment thinking he might be serious. The very notion of Sherlock Holmes having a child was ridiculous. Indeed, the very notion of Sherlock Holmes having sex with a woman was ridiculous.

 

In hindsight, the clues had practically been laid out for him.

 

The fact that Sherlock knew who Peppa Pig was.

 

The fact that several months ago, he had purchased life insurance for the first time in his life despite having maintained all along that it was a stupid concept. John had wondered briefly what had brought this on, but had put it down to the fact that Sherlock was now nearer to 40 than 30 and had come to realize that death was a very real possibility in his line of work.

 

The random weekends where Sherlock would go missing and return with a strangely vulnerable look on his face, looking the worse for wear and being extremely vague about where he had been.

 

That same vulnerable, almost tender look that is on his face right now as he regards the tableau in front of them.

 

All the clues have only just now fallen into place for John. But if he hasn’t acquired Sherlock’s brilliant deductive skills, perhaps he has acquired some of the speed at which Sherlock’s mind works, because all this has just gone through his brain in the five seconds that have passed since they first entered Sherlock’s room and encountered the tableau.

 

“Hello, Sherlock,” says the woman whom John had thought to be dead. She is decidedly not-dead, and is looking up at Sherlock with a look that promises cool sheets and misbehavior.

 

“Irene,” Sherlock greets, evidently reading the promise in her eyes. The room seems to heat up, the way it had all those years ago when Sherlock had cracked a code for her in eight seconds.

 

John feels a spark of triumph at having known it from the start, before even Sherlock himself knew, of having offered them his middle name as a suggestion in case they were looking for baby names. Oh, how he had _called it_. He can barely keep from smirking, even as the implications of what this all means slowly sinks in.

 

The dark-haired toddler who had been asleep not five seconds ago opens his eyes, and any lingering doubt John might have had is dispelled by his unwavering blue gaze. The toddler squirms in Irene’s arms and reaches chubby little arms towards Sherlock.

 

With a sigh of resignation, Sherlock picks up the toddler and turns to John. “Nero, meet John Watson. John Watson, meet Nero Hamish Holmes… my son.”


End file.
